


One year later

by hobbeshalftail3469



Series: Curry Night [2]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Angry shouty arguments, F/M, Finally, House Sitting, One Year Later, Strike fixes a door, Vomiting cats, lovely kissing, the kitties have grown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-17 17:57:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: This story is the second in the series called Curry Night.I have borrowed JK's 'One year later' time leap from Lethal White and this story continues Robin and Corm's relationship.





	1. I am not going to be an old, single cat lady!

"Bugger!" the familiar expression of frustration left Robin's lips as she realised that no amount of tugging or jiggling was going to shift the door handle.

She was in Ilsa and Nick's kitchen, Ossie pawing it her leg whilst the plaintive meowing of Ricky could be heard behind the door.  
He'd followed her through into the utility room and was now stuck inside it as the door handle (which Nick had advised her was a bit 'iffy') had completely stuck, refusing to budge. She'd tried to shoulder the door to no avail, and she knew for a fact that Nick's tool kit was also stored on the other side of the door with poor little Ricky.

It was Saturday night; usually she'd be having curry with the Herberts and Strike - most often at their house but occasionally cramped into Strike's bedsit or Robin's shared flat to ring the changes.  
It was pretty much a year to the day since the infamous curry night in that very kitchen where Robin had 'sort of' told Strike that she considered him as possibly more than just a friend and that at some point she might want their relationship to change.  
Since then the pair had remained close - an electricity between  them whenever they were alone which they seemed to thrive on, and a kind of relaxed closeness that was more than 'brother and sister', but not quite lovers.

Robin hadn't dated since then; and Nick had told Ilsa, who'd told Robin, that Cormoran hadn't either - in fact he'd told Nick that he hadn't seen anyone since Robin broke up from Matthew; and when Nick had asked why not he'd apparently, eventually said "I'm waiting."

Ilsa had dropped this bombshell when Robin was having her briefing about the cats earlier that day at the house prior the pair jetting off for some much needed R&R in Lake Como.  
"A year ago, in this very kitchen, I asked you whether you were interested in snogging him...and you said you didn't know; that you liked things the way they were.......I'm not pressuring you in any way, but....is that still the case?" Ilsa wheedled, closing the cupboard after showing Robin the stash of pouched wet food and dry biscuits.  
Robin wrinkled her nose slightly, "Well, not really....but, it's still so nice, I'm a bit scared of rocking the boat....does that make sense?" she huffed.  
Ilsa rolled her eyes, "So what you're saying is that you want to snog his face off, but you'd rather not risk the complete joy and happiness that would ensue because you quite like sitting next to him to eat your lunch, or to have a drink in the pub? Bloody hell Robin, you're as useless as each other!"  
Robin had shrugged her shoulders, "I don't want to get hurt again, and I think if Cormoran didn't want what I want, I think it would hurt so much I'd have to leave....and I can't do that."  
"I think Corm wants exactly what you want.....and I think he feels exactly the same way about the possibility of it all going wrong.....but if you both like each other - and let's face it you do.....it'll be OK."  
Robin looked at Ilsa and sighed deeply.  
"Anyway, the alternative is that you turn into an old, single cat woman......oh, hmmmmm, you have the cats this week courtesy of us......and you're not getting younger luv!" Ilsa shrieked as Robin flailed a weak slap in her direction.  
"I am NOT going to be an old, single cat lady!" Robin laughed.  
"Then tell Corm....or better still, show him; then he can't over analyse it and convince himself that he's reading you the wrong way.....you know what he's like!" Ilsa added as Robin nodded at her friend's deep understanding of their macho but  ridiculously romantic, poetic friend.

So Robin was now considering her options. She couldn't leave Ricky stuck in the utility room, and the only person she knew who could help would be Strike; but he'd said that he was busy - doing something with Shanker he'd said.  
Maybe he'd come over later when he was finished.....he'd know how to fix the door - shit, he could probably give it a decent shove and it would open!  
She pulled out her phone and called him. He answered on the second ring:  
C : Robin? Everything OK?  
R : Hi, errr, no not really. Are you busy?  
C : Not really no.  
Cormoran wasn't going to mention that the Shanker thing had been quicker than even he'd thought and that he was now bored and sipping his first of several Doom Bars that were lined up before retiring to bed with the sole intention of having a really decent, and completely inappropriate, think about his work colleague.

He heard Robin exhale in relief down the phone.  
R : Oh fabulous. I need you....or rather Ricky does....and bring some tools.  
C: OK......do I get any clues? Are we talking screwdriver or listening device type tools?  
R : Tools to open a seriously stuck door....and Ricky's on the other side meowing away.

Robin heard Strike laugh,  
C: That bloody utility room door...I told Nick to take off the mechanism completely but oh no, just squirt a bit of WD40, and now look....catastrophe.  
R: Was that supposed to be funny!?  
She could tell from the grunts and exertion that he was either reattaching his leg or putting on his boots or trousers.....so he hadn't been that busy with Shanker after all!  
C : I'll be there in about 20 minutes, can Ricky last till then?  
R: Well, there may be a puddle to clear up, but I'm sure he'll be fine. Cormoran?  
C : Yeah?  
R : Thanks.  
There was that single word again; said in her pouted Yorkshire lilt that affected him everytime he heard her utter it.  
C : No problem.

Twenty three minutes later Robin heard the doorbell and realised that she was checking her reflection in the hall mirror before opening the door to him.  
God! Stop acting like a ridiculous teenager and get a grip!

He was leaning his forearm on the wall, fingertip adjacent to the doorbell and she inhaled sharply as he cast her a hooded eyed smile.  
He was wearing one of her favourite shirts; a grey one in a thicker fabric with white buttons; and she noticed one more than usual was left unfastened, revealing more of his chest hair than was strictly legal - especially when he smelled of tobacco and his cologne.

"Where's your tools?" she asked, glancing at his empty hands.  
He shook his head and closed the door behind him, "Don't need any; if it's that door it just needs a decent bit of weight behind it," and he removed his large overcoat, "For which I am amply tooled up already!"  
She giggled, but couldn't help but admire his broad shoulders and significantly reduced waistline as he ambled ahead of her into the kitchen where Ossie skittered across the tiles and out of the way of his enormous feet.

"Thought you were busy with Shanker?" Robin queried, perching on the bar stool and crossing her bared feet.  
Strike noticed the deep red specks of colour adorning her small toenails and couldn't prevent his gaze travelling up the smoothness of her foot, ankle and shapely calf. Robin in work trousers was within his realm of acceptance; but Robin in tight leggings was a new mental image to both store away and contend with.

"S'all done; he just wanted a 'presence' to lurk whilst he had a discussion with one of his erm....colleagues!" he tactfully stated, smirking as Robin sniggered.  
"I must admit, it's always confused me how Shanker can come across as so fearsome when he's about 9 stone wet through! Do you want a drink while you're here?" she indicated the kettle and the fridge with her fingers.  
He raised his eyebrows and stared pointedly at the second option, grinning widely when a bottle of lager was removed for him along with the bottle of white wine she'd been left by Ilsa.  
"Right, let's free the furry pest and then I can enjoy my drink," Strike braced himself against the utility room door, twisted the door knob and briskly shouldered his weight into the wood twice before it gave way and opened.  
Ricky had by this stage settled himself on the counter top beneath the water heater and stretched lazily, as if being disrupted from his slumbers by the noisy intrusion.  
Strike went through to the room and opened the drawer which he knew from experience contained basic tools for household repairs and extracted a Philip's head screwdriver.  
Robin poured wine while he swiftly unscrewed the lock mechanism and removed the whole unit from the door, leaving a small hole where the spindle was housed.  
"Right, we'll leave it like that then nobody can get locked in again," and he scooped up Ossie who had bravely approached 'the giant' as he crouched and fiddled with 'the door to the food.'

Robin gasped as she glanced over at him, the bundle of fur nestled against his chest had grown into that weird cat stage of development were ears seem to have the growth spurt before other body parts.  
His uneven upper lip was pouting as he tickled behind Ossie's neck; the cat arching up in that affectionate and desperate way cats have.  
She pictured herself having a similar reaction to Cormoran's finger tip assault on her neck and physically shook away the image.

"Does that mean your evening has freed up?" she asked as he sauntered through to return the screwdriver to the drawer, returning with Ricky tucked under his other arm, patting at his brother with a flailing, splay toed paw.  
"Seems that way.......you got any hot dates coming over that I should make myself scarce for?" he asked, although could tell by her dress that this wasn't the case - tight leggings, baggy jumper, bare feet, hair tousled around her face didn't add up to 'hot date dress' - not even in Strike's shambolic clothing standards!

By way of response she picked up a sheaf of takeout menus from the counter and fanned them out,  
"What do you fancy?" she asked, grinning.  
'You, in my arms, my fingers in your hair and your lips on mine' - is what he wanted to say......but of course he didn't.  
"Well, not a prawn roshuni tonight......I'd quite like to leave my options open," he huskily drawled, his eyes focussing on the bundles of feline contentment in his hands so as not to allow the blush that was threatening to creep across his cheeks to develop further.

Robin felt the electricity between them jolt, as did the sensation of warmth in her stomach and thighs.  
"What options might they be?" she whispered, almost frightened of shattering the tension between them.  
Strike allowed Ossie to clamber onto the bin , freeing a hand to continue tickling Ricky's chin. His gaze remained down on the cat - the pesky things were pretty good as a diversion - but he licked his lower lip before responding.  
"The option to possibly.........finally............... maybe.......... kiss you....at some point......maybe," he flashed his eyes from cat to Robin and lingered.


	2. THIS is the perfect moment?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So in this part of the story I have added the kind of bad timing that I think is kind of canon with JK's novels.  
> We get angry Robin and angry Cormoran.....and a cat fetching up a furball!  
> A bit of canon Strike swearing.

Robin caught her breath slightly at Strike’s comment.

SHIT! 

That was quite a statement….and quite a possibility!

She realised that he hadn’t moved his eyes from her face, and she could feel her cheeks flushing.  
What should she say?  
‘Thank you very much, that would be lovely!’  
‘About bloody time!’  
‘Do it quickly because I might actually melt into a small puddle on the floor!’

 

Instead she swallowed and said, “Oh,” before she turned towards the fridge and removed another bottle of beer for Strike, despite him only being halfway down the first.

Cormoran was watching her reaction like the detective he was.   
She had blushed, she’d swallowed, she hadn’t run away screaming she hadn’t laughed in his face, and she was now clearly flustered – hence why she was trying to open a bottle of beer for him with a corkscrew rather than the bottle opener.

The cat squirmed in his arms and he allowed it to join his brother, scampering around.  
“Should we try Chinese then?” he suggested, clearing his throat and picking up one of the menus.

Robin gave up trying to open the beer and put down both the implement and bottle, glad of Strike’s change of focus slightly.  
SHIT though….  
........he might kiss her……tonight….at some point!  
But when?

He was looking at her now, looking at her eyes and lips…..was he going to do it now?

SHIT!  
Was this the moment?

She pressed her lips together in anticipation.  
“They do delivery and a pretty decent set meal,” he indicated, turning his attention back to the take out.

Oh….so not this particular moment then…..he’s thinking of his stomach not my lips!

Robin found herself nodding, she glanced over at the menu, “What’s in it?” she asked, composing her voice to a near normal level.  
“Mixed starters, duck and pancakes, chicken and black bean, sweet and sour and prawn crackers,” he reeled off as Robin came to stand and look over his shoulder at the menu.  
“Yeah, can you ring it through?” she inhaled his amazing aroma of tobacco and spicy cologne mingled with fresh sweat.   
He tilted his face, finding himself alarmingly close to hers.

SHIT!….was this the moment?   
Was this when he should kiss her?

No…..she was turning and heading for the loo.

So he took out his phone and dialled for the Chinese food instead.

In the downstairs bathroom Robin did what she’d gone in there to do and washed her hands.   
She regarded her reflection in the mirror……why hadn’t she put make up on?   
In the many fantasies she’d had about kissing Cormoran she’d always pictured herself looking …..nice!   
Sometimes she’d be wearing the green dress, sometimes she’d be dressed for the office, sometimes she was naked beneath a trench coat….but always, ALWAYS, she was wearing make up!  
“Bugger!” she said softly, outloud to her own image.

“It’ll be here in about 40 minutes,” Strike stated as she emerged, flipping her golden hair to one side of her neck.  
God he got turned on when she did that!  
Should he do it now?

No! Don’t kiss her when you have a partial stiffie to contend with already!

Robin noticed Cormoran’s slightly glazed, darkened gaze and felt a warmth spreading to her thighs.  
“Shall we go find something on TV then?” she suggested and without waiting for him headed into the lounge.  
He followed her through, bringing his own beer and her glass of wine.   
She had seated herself on the sofa, Ricky was curled up on the large easy chair that Cormoran usually favoured, leaving just the other end of the couch for him.  
He placed their drinks down on the coffee table and made himself comfortable.   
Ricky woke up and instantly jumped across to test out his lap as a possible sleeping surface.  
He curled around a few times before settling down; Strike could swear he saw the little bugger wink at him too….but it had given him the perfect ‘no other option’ opportunity to sit next to Robin!

She was flicking through the TV channels, finding nothing and going instead for Netflix.  
“What about continuing my initiation into that mad comedy….Bottom….I quite liked that. Didn’t you say there was a classic one called The Gas Man?” she pouted, trying to locate the series.  
Strike smiled broadly, “Perfect! And yes, The Gas Man is indeed a classic,” although he considered the somewhat saucy overtones of that particular episode…..hmmmm, maybe the food would have arrived by then!  
The familiar saxophone opening credits started up and Strike picked up his beer, extending his free arm across the back of the sofa, perilously close to Robin’s neck.  
Ossie pootled into the lounge and jumped up, selecting Robin’s lap, padding diligently prior to swirling down to have a quick clean.   
Robin tickled her fingers between his ears and Strike became a little distracted imagining those same fingers acting against his own ear, or neck, or chest…..  
.....SHIT!….should he just kiss her now?

No! The cats would get in the way and probably claw him to shreds!

So they watched Eddy and Ritchie engage in a hilarious mixture of physical and verbal comedy.   
He laughed with her and smiled as she clutched at her sides, tears streaming.   
Lost in mirth she’d flailed out a hand and slapped Strike’s thigh at one particularly amusing point.   
Her hand remained on his thigh for a fraction of a moment longer than was necessary, and did he imagine that she actually rubbed and squeezed it a little?

SHIT!  
Was this the moment?   
He could so easily just pull her shoulder towards him and kiss her.

But no, the doorbell sounded, “Food! I’ll get that!” Strike leapt up (in so far as it was possible for him to leap!) using the short walk to the front door to compose himself, and drag his hand across his face.

Robin had moved back through into the kitchen and was gathering crockery and cutlery for them both.  
Strike was unpacking the various boxes and bags and set the food out on the table, lifting an inquisitive Ossie down who had clambered up to investigate.  
Robin set the items down so that Strike could use the end chair and her one on the side of the table to his right and for a short while both forgot about the possibilities of the evening as they became engrossed in satisfying hunger.

Strike fetched the wine to top up Robin’s glass and another beer for himself.   
His fingers grazed hers as she accepted it.  
“Thanks.”  
SHIT!   
There it was again…..that single word that she’d uttered down the phone, in the Land Rover and now again in the Herbert’s kitchen.   
It was just one word, and she said thank you to him for all manner of things on a daily basis……but sometimes, like just then………like those other couple of occasions……… when she said it…………. it seemed to mean so much more.

Should he do it now?   
Should he just lean down and kiss her?

No! She was just chewing on a piece of sweet and sour pork!

Food finished, Strike nipped out for a cigarette, Robin loaded the dishwasher and fed the cats.

“What do you reckon boyz? He might kiss me…..might! That’s what he said. Now he’s got me in a tiz wondering when……he’s had loads of opportunities…..maybe he’s changed his mind!” she whispered to the purring felines who were listening intently, albeit with their heads down devouring Whiskas.

She heard the patio door slide and click shut.  
He was back inside.  
Maybe she’d step things up and see if she could make it clear that she would welcome a bit of lip contact.

“Is it cold out there?” she asked, walking over to him and pressing her small hand to his cheek.   
It was indeed cold, but the pink colour rose across both of his cheeks not just the one Robin’s soft fingers were caressing.

SHIT!  
Was this the moment?   
Should he cover her hand with his own and press his lips to hers?

Her eyes looked quite dark, her pupils were dilated and her lips were slightly open….maybe….  
However, a hacking, retching sound interrupted the moment.  
Ricky fetched up a few morsels of food together with a large furball, licked his mouth and wandered away from the small pile on the tiled floor.

“I’ll just get some kitchen roll!” Robin pouted and turned to clear up the mess while Strike walked back into the lounge.

He had sat back down on the sofa she noticed when she joined him, having wiped up the offending mess, given the cat a stern glower and washed her hands.  
“Mind if I watch Match of the Day?” he asked.  
Robin was slightly taken aback, “Go ahead,” she quipped, slightly harshly, and picked up her phone to play a few levels of Candy Crush while he became side tracked by Arsenal’s appalling performance in the league.

Strike noticed Robin’s change of mood towards him.   
He’d thought earlier that there had definitely been something between them.   
She’d let him feed her a prawn toast, he’d reciprocated by eating a morsel of crispy duck from her fingers when she’d found the particularly crispy piece and knew he’d enjoy it. And he’d lingered watching her suck the residual grease from the tips of her fingers.

But now, she sighed on the sofa and then but down her phone before going through to the kitchen without a word.   
He heard the kettle being flicked on.   
She hadn’t asked whether he wanted a cup of tea.

He waited…..he wasn’t really watching the football now.

Suddenly she was striding into the living room, hands clenched by her side, body tense, lips cemented into a hard line:  
“Look, you said you were possibly going to kiss me….why haven’t you? Is it because I look a mess? Because, you sort of sprang this on me, and if you wanted me to look nice you should have let me know,” and she abruptly turned and waltzed back into the kitchen – actually the utility room, where once she was inside she remembered no longer had a door handle or way of closing it.

Cormoran hauled himself up and strode into the kitchen to find her:  
“Robin? Robin? Where the fuck are you?” he spoke gruffly, but heard her exhale sharply behind the utility room door. “You might as well come out, ‘cos you can’t shut yourself away in there….or are you going to be cross with me for doing that too and ruining your escape?”

The door flew open and Robin stood, face like thunder, staring back at Cormoran’s now angered face.  
“Why did you say you were going to kiss me and then spend the evening avoiding really, really obvious chances to kiss me then?” she shrieked.

He wasn’t used to seeing Robin lose her normally cool exterior.   
He’d seen her panicking and anxious….but he hadn’t really witnessed her angry at him.

“I wasn’t sure!” he shouted back at her. “It isn’t always very clear when you are….I don’t know, liking me or just being you….because you’re so bloody nice to everyone!” and he threw his hands up in frustration.

“I don’t flirt with everyone though! I was bloody flirting with you!” she replied, getting more agitated. “You’re so bloody useless at this!”

“I’m bloody useless?! Which part of your behaviour tonight was flirting? I mean, was I supposed to spot it? Because you look at me all the time like you did tonight! How the hell am I supposed to know what is flirting and what is just Robin?!” he spat as she stomped across to the partially empty take away containers and started stuffing them into the plastic bags they had been delivered in.

“Well that’s bloody rich coming from you, Mr Smoulder eyes! You do this silent, staring thing in the office and it freaks me out, and then you do the same thing here and I think oh great, but then bugger off for a fag and sit watching football, ignoring me,” she was stuffing one bag so roughly that Strike could see it was in danger of splitting.

Both cats by this point had decided to sit on the breakfast bar, their heads flicking from side to side, like watching a tennis match, at whichever of the big humans was making the noise.

“You’re gonna rip that bag!” he shouted.

Robin flung the whole thing down, scattering bits of rice and prawn crackers across the floor,  
“Oh I can’t do anything right now, can I, Mr Bloody Know-it All! No wonder you don’t want to kiss me anymore!” she huffed, going back into the utility room.

“Oh! Fucking hell, Robin. Why are you stropping off into there again?” he shouted.  
“I’m getting the bloody dustpan and brush to clean up all of this,” and she swept her hand around the general chaos on the floor.

“Well, you made the bloody mess!” he quipped back.  
“YES! I fucking did….I look a mess, so I made a mess. Deal with it Cormoran!” she threw the brush down to join the rest of the mess and shook her head, striding through to the living room again.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Strike started to follow her, but pulled up short as she reappeared, again with her face set in a firm, angry glare. 

“I really, really wanted you to kiss me!” she shouted at him, her eyes portraying her frustration. 

“Well, stop stomping off on me!” he was shouting back at her now, moving towards her.

“It doesn’t matter now does it! You aren’t going to kiss me after this are you, not when you wouldn’t do it earlier when I was all flirty and not covered in sweet and sour sauce!” she indicated the smears across her baggy sweatshirt.

“I might still be interested in kissing you if you’d give me a chance!” Cormoran continued in his annoyed snapping tone.  
“Well, make your bloody mind up and do it!” she stated bluntly.  
“OK! Stay there!” he crossed the short distance between them and paused ridiculously close to her.

“Seriously, you’re going to do it now…..THIS is the perfect moment?” Robin murmured, realising that Strike’s presence this close was somewhat overwhelming.

“Well, there doesn’t seem to be a better one, so shut up, stand still and let me kiss you,” and with that romantic announcement ringing in the air he clasped one hand around the nape of Robin’s neck and drew her panting face towards his.

Before his lips reached hers Robin pushed against his shoulder and halted him about an inch from her lips.

“I’m a sweaty mess,” she whispered, pouting her lips, but feeling his hot breath against her cheek and beginning to think it no longer mattered.  
“I don’t care anymore……but if one of you bloody cats interferes I might launch you!” he cast a brief, intense glower at Ricky and Ossie who were watching intently from their perch.

The final inch of space disappeared as they both lost the will to fight with their feelings anymore.

That first real, intentional kiss was firm, hard and relatively brief.

They both pulled back and looked at each other, breath mingling, eyes heavy with desire and need.   
Strike watched carefully again for her reaction to him.  
There was the tiniest twitch of her lips into a smile, and her hand wound it’s way around his neck where she had longed for it to be resting for so long.

Their second attempt was………just as they’d both imagined it would be……….only better; their arms wrapped around each other and they melted into the warmth and tenderness of the other person’s embrace.

Later……much later, they left the mess of the kitchen and curled around each other on the sofa, their bodies nestled together as if made for that sole purpose.  
Ricky and Ossie had ceased a quick investigation of the remnants of Chinese food on the kitchen floor and leapt up behind them, unseen or ignored as the ‘giant’ and ‘nice smell lady’ lay entwined and joined at the lips. 

Ossie’s tail dangled like a curling vine down the back of the sofa; Ricky nestled down with his chin resting on his paws…..and all was right in their world.


	3. It's a memory foam mattress!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Strike are together.....it's all lovely and fluffy and all because of the kitties (and Nicks's crap DIY skills!)

Reluctantly, Strike said goodnight to Robin and spent the night in his own bed; his mind full of delicious thoughts and memories of the softness of Robin’s lips on his.  
Robin curled up in Nick and Ilsa’s bed – her bed for the week of course – with Ossie and Ricky for company.  
She giggled at the memory of Strike’s firm lips, stubbled cheeks and intoxicating scent. 

They’d made the move that took them beyond mere friends…..and it seemed OK.  
The world hadn’t ended, the sky hadn’t fallen….in fact all that had happened was a tightening sensation in her groin and a distinct twitching of Strike’s hips everytime she’d pressed herself against him on the sofa!

She felt her phone buzz with an incoming message and smiled delightedly when she saw Cormoran’s name :  
GOODNIGHT ELLACOTT. C X  
Robin beamed and nestled into the pillows, shifting her legs under the duvet and feeling one of the cats scrabble into a new position beside her.

Strike rang the doorbell of the Herbert’s at a little after 10am.  
He’d mimicked Robin’s usual arrival at the office by bringing with him 2 take out cups of their preferred morning coffees plus a bag of chocolate filled pastries.  
Robin had picked up his text which said he was on his way over after showering, so she answered the door to him with her hair in a towel turban wearing jeans and another of her slouchy sweatshirts.

“Morning,” Strike rumbled, staring at her with unbridled arousal, his smirking, eye crinkled smile. “I brought sustenance,” and jiggled the paper bag in front of her.  
“Well, you’d better come in and I can pay you with a kiss then!” Robin winked saucily and grabbed the bag as she wandered through to the kitchen leaving him to close the door behind him.  
Putting the coffee cups in their holder onto the counter he threaded his arms around Robin’s waist and pulled her softness closer, to inhale her familiar scent and nuzzle his lips against her neck.  
Robin surrendered herself to him immediately and growled slightly as his breath warmed her ear and loins simultaneously.

“Since you’ve gone to the trouble of buying these we should at least have them,” she giggled, pushing him away with some degree of both difficulty and self control.  
Strike groaned and twisted to slump across the worktop as Robin slipped from his grasp and took the coffee and bag across to the kitchen table, the cats scampering after her, their claws scrabbling on the tiled floor.

They spent the rest of the morning and a good part of the afternoon snogging on the sofa, grocery shopping and replacing the handle mechanism on the utility room.  
“Shall I take you out for a slap up meal later?” Cormoran suggested, as he finished screwing the new handle covering into place on the door, observed closely by Ricky who was guarding the screwdriver and ‘helping’.  
“By ‘slap up’ do you actually mean, ‘cheap and plentiful’?” Robin asked as she replenished the water bowl for the kitties.  
Strike nodded and grunted, a couple of screws wedged in his mouth as he wrestled with the mechanism.  
“Sounds good……but you’ll have to walk me home after,” she twinkled and pouted causing Strike to raise his eyebrows and shift uncomfortably at the prospect.  
“Deal!” he grinned, somewhat lopsidedly, one screw still gripped between his lips.  
He removed it and slid it into place, tightening it and jiggling the handle a couple of times to test it’s precision. “Right; in that case I’m off to make myself a bit more presentable. I’ll pop back about 7 OK?”  
Robin nodded and ran across to him as he appeared to be leaving without saying goodbye properly.  
She caught up with him in the hallway as he hoisted his huge army coat over his shirt.  
Glancing at her eager, flushed cheeks he had an overwhelming rush of affection.  
“Come here,” he welcomed her warm body up close and kissed her both tenderly and passionately, his thumbs brushing her cheeks.  
By this stage their mouths worked against each other with almost practised ease; lips parting to welcome sliding tongues, jaws twisting to prevent the clashing of noses and Robin holding onto his waist to prevent her from wobbling over as her knees buckled (as she now knew they would!)

 

Later, Robin showered and changed into a pair of black jeans, suede, heeled boots and an emerald green sweater. She’d applied her usual amount of make up, but added a slather of deep, crimson lipstick, blotting the excess on a tissue.

The doorbell rang promptly at 7pm and she inhaled sharply at the sight of Cormoran on the doorstep; he looked edible in his navy trousers and white shirt, his usual overcoat replaced by a slightly smarter, but ‘Strike Style’ crumpled grey jacket.  
His smile highlighted his dark eyes, and she detected a slight hitch to his breathing as she sort of deliberately gave him a perfect view of her arse as she bent to pick up her bag.

“Cats are fed and watered, and I’m ravenous!” she smiled, pulling the door closed as they made their way down the path.  
Once on the pavement, Cormoran moved onto the ‘outside’ and slipped his arm around Robin’s waist, glancing across to check whether she was OK with this level of romantic demonstration, recalling from many lifetimes ago that she disliked men grabbing women’s arses in public!  
Robin however was more than comfortable beside him, and she hooked her thumb into the back pocket of his trousers as they matched each others’ strides.

“Have you got somewhere in mind?” Robin asked as they neared the main high street.  
Cormoran nodded and made a ‘uhum’ noise, deep within his chest. “Decent pub a bit further along up here, does food and isn’t usually too rammed from past experience with Nick,” he grinned and planted a small kiss on her nose as they walked.

The pub was indeed a good choice – very similar inside to the Tottenham – it was relaxed, the right amount of busy to be enjoyable and served a decent menu of ‘staple pub grub’, Robin opting for a veggie lasagne and chips, Strike for steak and kidney pie with chips and onion gravy.  
The pub served a fairly decent draught beer and Robin was happy with any white wine!  
They had several of each, enjoying being able to stroke hands across the table.  
Strike was also enjoying the admiring looks Robin received when she went to the ladies, especially when she gave him a small kiss upon her return – which earned him some raised eyebrows and admiring looks of a different nature, boosting his typical male ego nicely!

Strike knew that a fourth glass of wine would end badly, so suggested he take her up on her request from earlier and walked her back to her home for the week.

“You coming in for coffee then?” she smirked, opening the door and not waiting for his reply, but leaving the door open for him to follow her as she removed her coat and hung it over the bannister.  
Cormoran followed her through to the kitchen, scooping up Ricky who was stretching up against his partial leg as he rested his elbows against the breakfast bar.  
“Tea?” Robin asked, already selecting 2 mugs and flicking on the kettle.  
Strike nodded and watched as Robin efficiently fetched the necessary ingredients as the kettle boiled.  
Strike amused himself rubbing Ricky’s chin and receiving nuzzling nudges and rubs across his stubbled beard in response.

Tea brewed to his preferred treacle colour and Robin’s more normal caramel shade they retired to the living room and the familiar sofa.  
The did drink a small amount of the tea, but then became far more interested in exploring each others’ mouth and neck with their own.  
Cormoran flipped Robin ontop of him on the sofa, extending his long legs over the arm, her body lying along his own, the firmness in his trousers very evident as his hands roamed across her curves and tangled in her hair.  
After one particularly erotic grind of her hips against him he pushed her back, sighing a deep, rumbling groan from his chest:  
“I should go….or I’m not going to want to!” he mumbled and started to pull himself up off the sofa.  
Robin however had other ideas and pushed him back down with her palms flat against the broad expanse of his chest.  
“Don’t go yet,” she purred, and bit down on his earlobe sensually.

They woke up in each others’ arms, in Nick and Ilsa’s bed, but in bedding smelling of Robin, which had cured Strike of any slight doubts he’d had – although when they’d made it to bed together the previous night most of his niggling concerns had disappeared.  
Nothing had happened, they’d just slept curled around each other, stroking their palms against each other, Robin’s toes running up and down his leg and a half before she draped herself across his chest and sighed deeply, her breath becoming deep and even in time with Strike’s.

Strike didn’t really leave, and when Nick and Ilsa managed to get an earlier flight (due to a case of Ilsa’s being brought forwards to court) they discovered all manner of evidence of his ‘residence’ upon creeping in at around 3am.  
There was a pot full of cigarette stubs out on by the back doors; his massive boots next to Robin’s in the hallway; a ridiculous selection of empty beer bottles rattled and clinked in the recycling bin together with a familiar deep, rumbling snore emanating from upstairs, together with a higher pitched whimpering snort.

They tip toed upstairs, Nick less sure about barging in, but Ilsa was confident that she wouldn’t see anything she hadn’t seen before (much to Nick’s alarm….he’d make further enquiries about that comment later!) and popped her head around her bedroom door, making a teeny squeak and beckoning Nick to look too.

Cormoran was big spoon, Robin the little spoon, Ricky was teeny spoon, curled against Robin’s chest and Ossie was nestled into the space he’d discovered at the end of the ‘Giant’s’ leg where a paw should be.  
All 4 were emitting a range of snores and slack jawed whimpers but looked so cosy.

Nick and Ilsa backed out of the bedroom and went downstairs.  
In the kitchen Nick looked at his wife, “I suppose we should be glad…..they’re finally together!”  
Ilsa flipped on the kettle and nodded, “They looked quite sweet up there,” she wrinkled her nose and silently clapped her hands, although Nick just wrinkled his nose. “What’s the matter?” she asked.  
“Do you think they’ve been at it in our bed?” he grumbled.  
Ilsa snorted, “What does it matter if they have? You’ve just slept in a hotel bed with me and didn’t seem to care about the previous occupants!”  
Nick flexed his neck, “I didn’t know them!”  
Ilsa poured water onto tea bags and continued to snigger, “Don ‘t be a hypocrite……we’ll be changing the bedding before we get back in there!”  
Nick blew on his tea and nodded, taking a contemplative sip, “But it’s a memory foam mattress,” he murmured, earning a giggling ruffle of his hair from his wife.

When his alarm went off at 8am Strike stretched and planted several wet kisses across Robin’s shoulders which roused her from her deep slumbers.  
“We should get up….Ilsa and Nick are due back today, landing at about 10am, so probably back at about 11ish…..I should probably scarper,” he suggested whilst cracking and creaking his limbs and back into movement again and ruffling his hand through his hair and across his face, causing Ossie and Ricky to leap down from the bed knowing that for the past few days this ritual had been followed by food being produced in their bowls in the kitchen.

Strike showered and attached his leg, dressing quickly in order to consume his first cigarette of the day, arriving downstairs at a little before 8.30am, Robin having followed him into the shower, and based on the last few days would join him in about 20 minutes time.

“Oh! Morning!” Strike did a slight double take on finding Nick and Ilsa sat at the kitchen table, looking bleary eyed after a short nap on the sofa. “You been here long?”  
“Not as long as you Oggy mate,” Nick smiled and slapped his friend on the back as he passed him en route to the back door for nicotine.  
Strike nodded and accepted the ribbing he would no doubt be subject to from the pair, “Very bloody funny! We got together, OK? Just like you both wanted, so shut up…. I need a fag!”  
“Do you reckon Robin would mind me going up? I could do with grabbing a work suit so I can get into the office,” Ilsa mentioned.  
Strike flicked his head to signify she should go on up.

Upstairs, Ilsa could hear that the shower had been turned off and from the subtle noises assumed Robin was applying make up.  
“Robin? Can I come in?” she asked, poking her head around the door as she had several hours earlier.  
“Oh my God, Ilsa! You’re back…..have you seen……”  
“He doesn’t exactly blend into the woodwork, Robin! So?........You two are…….” And she clicked her tongue into her cheek and waggled her eyes saucily.  
Robin giggled and threw one of the pillows at her, “We are snogging, and yes he’s slept over….is that OK? But nothing else, not yet,” Robin blushed slightly, turning back to finish applying mascara to her second eye.

Ilsa pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded, “Nick will be pleased about that,” she murmured as she flicked through her wardrobe and located a navy trouser suit.  
“Aren’t you back early?” Robin offered, brushing her hair and piling all her make up into her holdall – she’d been packing things up as she went along in preparation for them getting back.  
“Yeah, but my case has been brought forward, I need to be in court this afternoon, so we managed to get an earlier flight – I can get a start in the office first and run through a few of the main arguments before we start. Don’t panic about you two by the way…..we’re thrilled!” Ilsa added.  
Robin smiled sheepishly, “I am too!”

Robin left Ilsa alone to get ready and went down to find the boys.  
Cormoran was on his third cigarette and second mug of tea, Nick was looking cautiously at the new door handle.  
“It’s perfect!” Strike shouted, grinding out his cigarette and emptying the pot and it’s contents into the wheelie bin, secretly thinking he should possibly think about cutting down a bit!  
“Yeah, it looks OK, just didn’t think it needed a completely new one!” Nick waggled the handle again, checking that both sides moved.  
Strike shook his head at him, “Well….I’m glad actually….that thing is what finally got me and Robin together!”  
“Yeah, Nick….your crap DIY skills are very much appreciated!” Robin added, joining them and kissing the smoky lips of Cormoran warmly.  
“Glad my uselessness is of use!” Nick grinned, “And on behalf of Ricky and Ossie, thanks for looking after them.”  
“You’re welcome, it was fun….even without this one,” she nudged into Strike’s torso beside her, earning a grunting hug.  
“So……curry night on Friday as usual then?”


End file.
